Descent

Chapter 1: Prologue

   There it is again. That dark ghost of a handprint creeping over your shoulder when you have your back turned. It feels heavy, as if something is standing right behind you, breathing at your neck, ready to drag you into the unknown.

You freeze. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Ignore the feeling. Give whatever it is no power over you.

Never. Run.

You breathe deep and keep walking, and the feeling turns into panic. It feels like it's following you closely and your breath hitches in your throat. As soon as you approach the door to inside, you sprint the last steps to open it and quickly shut it behind you, but as you turn to shut it you realize nothing is there, or ever was.

You breathe a sigh of relief. It was just anxiety. Your silly fear of what's lurking in the dark. You are safe in the building. No big deal, you were just being dramatic.

Unless it stayed so close it followed behind you, mimicking your every move.

You whip around and look in all the mirrors mingling with the neon lights on the walls, and see nothing there.

Another sigh of relief. Calm down, it's going to be okay. You are being silly.

It becomes an afterthought. You really were just being over anxious. There is nothing hiding in the darkness when you take the trash to the dumpster at night. It's just trees, maybe a few squirrels or snakes. Normal things.

You work in a small town bar outside of city limits. You are safe. There is nothing to be afraid of, you tell yourself.

You continue cleaning and stocking beers, listening to music or watching your favorite Netflix shows to pass the empty silence.

It smells like lemons. Lemon pine sol to be exact, it permeates your skin every night and when you get home all of your laundry basket smells the same. Could be worse, it could be hundreds of cigarettes imprinting their smoke in your hair, pores, and every fiber of clothing you own.

You quit smoking three years ago. And the bar you work at is non smoking, the back deck is where patrons go. It's nice out there in the summertime.

Shit. The lights on the back porch needs to be turned off. You normally have a guest do it for you but it's been a slow night. The switch is at the far right end, placed on a beam.

It's a quiet night. Even the frogs that are normally singing loudly, are silent. The air is thick with humidity, even at 1 in the morning.

You open the back door and prop it open with the dusty cigarette butt can, and begin the walk to the switch.

It always feels so much longer when you're alone, stretching for what feels like the size of a football field.

You reach the switch. There is a stillness in the air. You note that the bugs that are normally swarming the neons are even calm, only crawling among the concrete walls instead of flying about mercilessly. You open the cover, hesitating slightly, then flick it off.

Pitch black darkness surrounds you. Even the neons aren't there to guide your path.

This time, you run.

You sprint as fast as your legs can take you. Heart beating wildly in your chest. Feeling an animistic energy trailing behind you, as if the sound of the thudding of your feet on the wood was not actually sourced from you, but from the presence.